But, though Uncle Felix knew
this perfectly well, he persisted, hoping for a sudden disclosure that
would justify his search--even expecting it, perhaps.
"And what sort of a day would it be, then, this Extra Day of yours?"
he went on. "It would never end, of course, for one thing, would it?
There'd be no time?"
She nodded quietly by way of effortless agreement and consent.
"So that, in a sense, you'd have it always," he said, aware of
distinct encouragement. He felt obliged to help her. This was her
peculiar power--that everything was done for her while she seemed to
do it all herself. "You would live it over and over again, for ever
and ever. _That's_ your secret, I expect, isn't it?"
"I expect so," the child answered quietly. "I've always got it." She
moved in a little closer to his side as she said it. The disclosure he
expected seemed so near now that excitement grew in him. Across the
lawn he saw the hurrying figures of Tim and Judy, racing back with
their button-holes. There was no time to lose.
He put his arm about her, tilting her face upwards with one hand to
see it plainly. The blue dyes came up with it.
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